I Know a Place
by mea-kh
Summary: Amanda comes to terms with her true feelings and realizes who’s been there for her all along. Amanda/Wickham. Not quite a lemon, but rather tart...


"**I Know a Place" by Mea-Kh**

Have you ever had an epiphany? A moment of realization so profound and astounding that it knocks you flat on your bum. Something that you've known all along in the back of your mind just suddenly leaps and hits you like an anvil falling on your head for absolutely no reason. And then you start freaking out because, oh my god, it's raining _anvils_.

Or maybe you're just walking down the street humming your favorite tune when completely out of the blue it registers in your brain that the planet is careening through the universe at thousands of miles per hour and in a fit of irrationality you wrap yourself around the nearest lamp post only to realize it's been doing that for, well, _ever_, and that there's gravity and stuff and that now you don't just feel like a moron but look like one too.

I've just experienced one of those moments.

Except instead of a lamp post I've wrapped myself around George "Maybe-Not-Such-A-Scum-Bag-After-All" Wickham.

My big epiphany? Simple: I'm not Elizabeth Bennett.

I spent so much time focused on being this character, trying to fit in and make Darcy notice me that I forgot who Amanda really was, or is. Which in Wiki terms would be: _a foul mouthed hoyden completely lacking in charm and subtlety._ And who may I ask, in all this world of propriety and refinement would actually find that appealing? not just a "refreshing lack of stuffy mannerisms"?

George M.N.S.A.S.B.A.A. Wickham, that's who. Or whom, as the case may be.

But as Austen would have it, it all started with a misunderstanding. A preconceived notion of his character and all its flaws. Because I'd read the book. I knew everything.

Right?

Except I'd failed to notice that ever since I arrived in here nothing's been going the way it was supposed to. And I was trying so hard to set it all right and _still_ get my happily ever after that I forgot this wasn't my story or my prince charming. Or should I say Mr. Darcy. They'd always been one and the same to me. I'd been in love with Mr Darcy since I was a little girl, he was the hero of the story. He came to Elizabeth's rescue in the end and did it all secretly because he loved her and wanted her to be happy, even if it wasn't with him.. but he certainly didn't rescue me.

George Wickham was the one to come galloping on his white horse and bail me out of fix after fix. When I'd taken Mr and Mrs Bennett to my "home" he'd rescued me from trying to explain that I didn't actually have one, helped us find Kitty and Bingley, saved me from disgrace, all without asking for one single explanation. _And_ he'd helped me gain the courage to fight for the man of my dreams.

Well, it was time to wake up.

I know it sounds silly, but Wickham is _my_ Darcy. My hero. The one who never gave up on me.

Jane could be with Bingley thanks to the unforeseen yet fortuitous fastidiousness of Mr. Collin's religious practices. And now that Elizabeth was back home after having her little jolly in my time, it looked like I would soon be returning from whence I came. A little sadder, a little wiser and... oh yeah, still completely confused!

So I didn't think it wouldn't make much of a difference if I were to spend my last few moments in this Regency Narnia shoving my tongue down the aforementioned new-man-of-my-dream's throat, right? Or, at least _trying_ to. For a man who has no problem propositioning a woman he's not very quick to respond... oh god.

"Oh god," I said out loud, letting go of the lapels of his uniform, desperately trying to regroup, "frenching probably isn't popular yet, is it?"

"Not at all, Miss Price." He looks baffled. And amused. And slightly out of breath. "But I feel it will assuredly take the _ton _by force." And suddenly I was the one being ruthlessly kissed.

My hands gripped the hair at his nape while his arms wrapped around my waist, fingers splayed out on the small of my back. Lord, I wanted those fingers everywhere! I moaned in his mouth (another part of him I wanted everywhere) and pressed myself against every inch of his body.

It was his turn to moan. "Do you want to go somewhere?" he gasped in between kisses. It suddenly dawned on me we were standing in the middle of the Bennett's parlor. I hardly thought it would leave a good impression if someone were to walk in on us going at it like rabbits. Yes, I wanted to have sex with George Wickham. What could it hurt? I'd already admitted I'd lived with a man before. Of course men at this time had sex before they were married, but it was all done quietly and... would "properly" be the right term? Anyway, I'd already had plenty of sex, so what was wrong with a little bit more?

I had been staying in Elizabeth's room, so I didn't know where the guest rooms were. I didn't feel like guessing and accidently fining myself in Kitty or Mary's rooms, I doubt very much that would leave a very good impression either. So that would leave...

"I know a place." I replied, possibly not in the clearest of minds. I practically drug him through the hall and up the stairs, luckily not running in to anyone on the way. When we reached the _door_ I halted and turned back preparing to explain... something, I'm not entirely sure what, when he started kissing me all over again while his hands reached behind me to the handle.

To my utter astonishment the door opened for him. My apartment was dark, meaning my roommate was out. Thank God! We tumbled in, nearly slipping in the bath tub. Apparently he was so focused on getting me out of my dress he didn't notice the nickers hanging from the curtain rod, or the fact that no bathrooms in the 19th century looked like this one. Or that we'd just passed through a magic door.

He obviously knew how best to divest one of their clothing, because before we even reached the threshold to my bedroom my dress sank to the floor. Grabbing my waist he lifted me easily out of the puddle of fabric and carried me to the bed. I silently thanked Elizabeth for tidying otherwise he would have tripped on any number of things because he obviously wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.

Having set me on the bed he began to remove his own clothing. Raising myself to my knees I reached behind to my back attempting to untie the laces to the insufferable corset I was ecstatic to never have to wear again.

"Allow me," jacket, shirt and boots removed, George slid his fingers across my heaving bosom (yes, I said heaving bosom) and to the knotted laces. My hands now free to do what they will ran up and down his chest. I leaned forward to replace my fingers with my lips causing him to gasp and wrench the laces free with a harsh tug.

There was a flurry of fabric, a collision of lips, a wrestling of bodies for dominance, then complete and utter ecstasy. I won that wrestle, by the way, and collapsed utterly spent on top of him.

"My God," he gasped into my hair, "you are..." his voice trailed off.

I pulled myself up a little to look at his face and laughed when I saw his mouth open and gaping at the David Tennent poster affixed to the ceiling above my bed. His eyes traveled around the room and finally came back to stare at me in astonishment. I gave him a quick kiss and got up, wrapping the sheet around my body as I made my way to the loo, "I have to admit, George," I said chuckling before closing the door, "you're face is most amusing when surprised."

**The End**

**Review. Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Pretty please with George Wickham on top? ha! I knew that would get you:-)**


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